Dursleys' Demise
by Chaosbeastie
Summary: All those stories where Snape mercifully doesn't kill the Dursleys while recuing Harry, really started to irritate me. I mean - Snape? Merciful? Come on. This story? They die. Harry is happy.


Story Summary: Snape meets Dursleys, kills them, Harry is delighted and thinks he's the most wonderful person in the world.

AN: Snape meets Dursleys. Cliche I know, but the plot rabite lept up and tore my throat out, so oh well. It started to irritate me that whenever Snape met the Dursleys he nobly refrained from killing them.

Will continue this story or not depending on how I feel. The bit I wrote it for is written.

"Lemon drop?"

"No. No way. I won't and you can't make me."

Albus twinkled at him, infuriatingly.

Severus sighed, admitting defeat with resigned familiarity. This was Dumbledore after all. What did he expect? "All right. I'll go. But I'm not gonna be nice to him, understand?"

"Of course." Twinkle.

"Gah!"

Twinkle.

Snape left.

It was in a cloud of irritation that Snape apparated into Privet Drive later that day. Blistering criticisms lined up in the back of his mind, left unsaid only for lack of a target on which to vent them.

Privet: Bushy evergreen shrub with small small white flowers and small shining black berries, much used for hedges.

The small white flowers, Snape recalled, were prone to causing allergic reactions. Much like the small minded muggles that inhabited the street for which the wretched plant was namesake. At least he was rapidly finding himself to be allergic to them.

Four Privet Drive exuded the same petty minded identicality that had caused Snape's trademark sneer to deepen the moment he had set foot on the miserable road. Nothing in particular set it apart from the other houses, and Severus wondered for a moment if he had done anything recently to irritate Dumbledore. It would be just like the old man to send him to the wrong address. He couldn't think of anything off the top of his head, but that didn't mean there wasn't anything. _Twinkle._ Sighing slightly, he put the idea aside for later consideration.

Snape rapped on the perfect door irritably, taking care to chip the paint. Petty vindictiveness was his speciality after all. One of them, anyway. You don't want to know about the others.

The door was opened before too long by a fat... Snape assumed it was a boy. The fat... didn't give him time to double check. "I'll get daddy," it squeaked quickly and disappeared, to be replaced by someone who could comparatively be considered a stick figure but was nevertheless quite a large man.

Potter's uncle stuck out his hand. "Vernon Dursley. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to check on Potter."

Vernon froze. "Potter? What Potter? I don't see any..."

Snape Looked at him.

"Oh, you mean that Potter."

Vernon fidgeted uneasily for a very short period of time. "Well um. You wait right here and I'll fetch him."

True to his word the man returned shortly, dragging a boy behind him by his untidy black hair. Young man, Snape corrected to himself. There was nothing in Potter's bearing that suggested childhood. His student seemed more than a little resigned -but in a patient, rather than a defeated sort of way-, an attitude that mingled oddly with his surprise at seeing him. Potter waited until his uncle released his hair before straightening cautiously to meet Snape's eyes.

"Well, happy birthday to me." The voice was familiar, however the sarcasm that it dripped with was not. The words earned him a vicious backhand from his uncle, and Harry moved with the blow, crumpling strategically into a corner with the ease of long practise. Admirable, if not a little disturbing.

Snape took in the situation at a glance. Glance in this case referred to his usual glare. Potter, complete with bruises and broken arm and broken glasses, scowled back at him, silent and Gryfindor stubborn, as if defying him to comment. _It's his birthday?_

"I apologise for his condition, sir. As you can see, the ungrateful brat needs to be taught some respect." _"I apologise for Severus, my Lord. The boy will be taught a lesson…."_ Vernon looked about as regretful as his own father once had. Not very.

"Indeed. I have often thought so myself." Severus kept his tone neutral. "And you are the one I have to thank for this?" Inwardly, he was fuming, tiny curls of magic beginning to escape his control.

Potter stayed frozen, not moving from his uncle's side. The faint glimmer of hope in his eyes extinguished itself silently, almost reluctantly - all animosity put aside, he had thought better of this man. Oh well.

Vernon Dursley puffed himself up proudly. "Yes I am. The little freak won't forget his place in this household again."

The windows shattered. So did the remains of Snape's self-control. "I always thought Potter's relatives spoilt him," he snarled. "I hate being wrong."

Snape had been a fully-fledged Death Eater for many years. Some of those years included spying against them, but that did little to counteract the instinctive reactions that - out of necessity - went with the job. Restraint towards muggles was not a survival trait.

"Crucio."

Vernon screamed.

"So," Severus sneered. "Give me one good reason why I should not kill you."

Dursley didn't answer, being busy screaming; someone else did that for him. Petunia, defending her small world to the last, her son a quivering lump of lard behind her. "That damn freak deserved what he got and more. After all we've done for him..." The shrill voice was tainted with fear, and entirely misplaced courage. Severus was in no position to appreciate it.

"Fool Gryfindor. You desire to be exterminated also, I assume?" Snape sneered. "I can arrange that."

Dudley whimpered.

Potter smiled, unnoticed by his Professor.

Vernon continued screaming.

Petunia met the deatheater's eyes coldly. "Why on earth should you? We never did anything to you. And the freak boy deserved what he got."

Snape saw red, a single voice of reason from his memory the only thing even remotely holding him back. _You are not the one wronged, Severus. It is not your right._ He felt sick, amidst his fury. _That brat will never let me kill them...I wish..._

Slowly, he turned to Harry. "Potter. Will you speak for them.?" His voice was calm, almost formal.

"I..." Harry's voice cracked, then hardened. "I will not."

"Very well. Avada Kedavra." The familiar flash of green light flashed from his wand. Three times and the muggles had barely enough time to look surprised before they stopped looking surprised in order to look dead instead.

Harry smiled, for the first time since the beginning of the holidays. As his defences dropped fractionally, he was suddenly aware of the vast extent of his injuries. Green eyes slammed shut against the pain, and he was unconscious before he hit the floor. And before a certain black-eyed wizard caught him gently, shielding him from the impact with previously mentioned horizontal surface.

Two hours later, an average brown owl arrived with a letter for Mr H J Potter. Finding nobody to receive it, except the house empty and spotless, the bird finally dropped it on the elegantly polished table and left. Had Harry been there, he would have been dismayed to learn that his irresponsible and illegal behaviour regarding underage magic had merited his expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As it was, the table - being a muggle table and therefore inanimate - couldn't have cared less.


End file.
